


Making a Statement

by daydreamsonacloudyday



Series: Isabel Cousland [24]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-04 05:12:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1766755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamsonacloudyday/pseuds/daydreamsonacloudyday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabel deals with the nobles constantly asking if she’s pregnant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making a Statement

_There isn't enough time._

That was his wife's reasoning as to why she dragged him into a random storage closet just outside the throne room instead of their bedroom. Alistair didn't argue with her; she'd been in a foul mood ever since Eamon had interrupted their breakfast, not so-subtly shifting their topic of conversation towards the lack of a royal heir. When he first started bringing it up, it didn't bother her, and she'd come back with a witty retort about how they were having fun trying to produce an heir night after night.

But, after a while, it wore on her. She stopped making jokes, and if she didn't feel horrible about herself, she'd just get angry at Eamon for bringing it up _again_ —as if they wouldn't run through the palace jumping for joy when— _if_ —it actually happened. Isabel had put on a pleasant face for Eamon and their subjects while they held court, but Alistair knew her well enough to see past her mask. She was simmering with anger inside, and if letting her drag him into a closet and have her wicked way with him would make her feel better, he'd gladly comply.

Besides, he rather enjoyed their illicit trysts.

When they finished, Isabel let out a contented sigh, nuzzling her face against his neck as he held her close. Alistair allowed himself a smug smile of satisfaction at his wife's change in mood.

"We have to get to the council meeting," she muttered, pressing light kisses to his neck.

He groaned in protest. "I don't want to move."

Isabel snorted a laugh, gently nibbling on his earlobe. "We have to. If we don't show up, Eamon will send the guards to look for us, and you wouldn't want them to find us in such a state, would you?"

"No," he said with a sigh. They disentangled themselves from each other, both fumbling around in the dark closet for their missing clothes. Once everything was back where it was supposed to be, they snuck out of the closet, back into the hallway. Isabel giggled when she saw him, running her fingers through his disheveled hair to rearrange it properly. He did the same to her, tucking stray waves back where they belonged, until they both looked as they did before they found themselves in that closet.  
Well, _almost_ like they did before.

"Um… love?" Alistair started, nervously scratching the back of his head.

"Yes?" she asked, looking up from smoothing out the skirt of her dress.

"You've… got a… blemish…"

Understanding what he was getting at, Isabel grinned mischievously at him. "Where exactly is this… blemish?" He reached out and lightly ran his thumb over the small bruise on the side of her neck, her smile growing wider. "Ooh, that's going to be visible," she said, brushing her hair back like she _wanted_ it to be seen. "Don't worry about it."

"But the meeting—"

"Let them all see it," she interrupted. "It's proof that we're working hard on making that baby they all want to much." Despite the lingering bitterness in her voice, she didn't seem to be getting angry again. In fact she seemed… disappointed? "I only wish I'd made yours just as noticeable," she continued, tugging the collar of his shirt down to reveal his own little love bite. Alistair felt his cheeks heating up, and Isabel shrugged, letting out a sigh. "Oh, well, old habits die hard, I guess." She took his hand and started leading him towards the meeting chamber, his free hand self-consciously making sure his collar was as high as it could get.

When they arrived, Eamon shot them a displeased look that Isabel ignored, holding her head up high as she walked over to her seat. Alistair pulled it out for her and she gracefully sat down before he pushed her in. He sat right by her side, everyone else sitting with him.

"The king and I are sorry to keep you waiting, my lords, we were discussing important business," she said, using the voice he liked to call her "people voice."

Eamon raised an eyebrow at her, his gaze darting down to her neck before returning to her eyes. _Oh, Maker…_ "Anything you would care to share with the rest of us, your Majesty?" he asked, knowing full well she and Alistair hadn't been _discussing_ anything.

Isabel smiled, addressing the members of the council. "Yes, Chancellor, it _is_ something I would like to share," she started. "The king and I are concerned about the reluctance of some members of the human community to accept the new Bann of the Alienage…"

The queen argued her point, with input from Alistair, until the members of the council started to see her way on the issue. She was very good at manipulating the nobles into getting what she wanted. He would have been content to just sit there and watch her work her magic if he didn't have participate himself.

As the meeting continued, some of the other nobles started to notice the bruise on her neck, giving her curious looks while whispering to each other like a flock of gossiping hags. Alistair knew she didn't usually mind hushed conversation about such things, but he could see she was starting to get annoyed by it, and he didn't blame her. She was discussing serious problems Ferelden had to overcome—something their advisors and councilors should have been paying close attention to.

"Lord Dalison, is something the matter?" Isabel called out, the man in question stiffening in his seat. He slowly turned to face her, his gaze not meeting her eyes as he addressed her.

"No, your Majesty."

"Is that so? I could have sworn something drastic must have happened based on the way you and Lord Alington were chattering about." The other man looked just as uncomfortable as Lord Dalison.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, it's just…" The man struggled for words, and Alistair noticed a mischievous glint in his wife's eyes. She was up to something. Normally he loved when she put the nobles in their place, but considering what had started all this… he was afraid of what she had up her sleeve.

"It's just what? You may speak plainly with me, my lord," she prompted, looking the perfect picture of innocence.

"There is… something on your neck…"

Alistair tensed beside her, swallowing hard. _Oh, Maker have mercy…_

"Oh, that," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "That was the result of an accident, don't mind it."

"An accident?" Lord Dalison asked, a puzzled expression on his face.

"You see, the king and I may have gotten just a bit carried away when we were performing our duty to Ferelden earlier," Isabel continued, and Alistair felt his cheeks beginning to burn. Beside him, Eamon sighed, shaking his head, the other nobles' eyebrows shooting up to their hairlines.

"Your… duty?" one of them asked, and he didn't miss the tiny quirk of his wife's lips. _Andraste's flaming sword, she wouldn't…_

"Yes," she began, thinly veiling the hostility in her voice. "We've been very diligent in trying to produce that royal heir you're all so concerned about."

The nobles gasped, absolutely appalled, and Alistair slouched in his seat, wishing he were anywhere but in that room. Isabel, on the other hand… she reveled in their reactions.

"Your Majesty!" one of the nobles exclaimed, shooting up from his seat. "I hardly think it's appropriate to speak of such things in this manner!"

She fixed the man with a dangerous glare, and he immediately sat back down. "And I hardly think it's appropriate to be constantly berated with inquiries on whether the king and I have conceived a child yet." She glanced towards Eamon before returning her gaze to the other man. "But, I still seem to be getting that question a lot as of late," she continued. "When I say the king and I are trying, I expect you to take me at my word. Trust me, you will all know when we succeed in producing an heir. Until then, I kindly ask you to keep your inquiries and comments to yourself."

The nobles nodded their agreement, and Alistair sat up a little straighter in his seat, his embarrassment passing. He was impressed; he shouldn't have been, since Isabel had a knack for this sort of thing, but he was. And he was proud of her for taking care of their problem in such a diplomatic way. Knowing her, that entire exchange could have gone down a completely different road that would have resulted in him hiding under the table as red as a tomato, but thankfully, it didn't.

Eamon cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention to him. "We will take your request under advisement, your Majesty," he said.

"Very good," she said, pleased. Alistair laced his fingers with hers under the table, and she turned to him, smiling. He smiled back, which only made her grin more, until she took a deep breath and tore her gaze from his, focusing back on the task at hand. "In that case, shall we get back to business?"

…

Not a week later, after Eamon brought up the issue of the royal heir _again_ , the King and Queen of Ferelden walked into their council meeting brandishing matching love bites on display for all to see. Naturally, the Chancellor didn't utter a word about the royal heir for weeks after that.

Alistair's wife may have been a devious woman, but she sure knew how to get things done.


End file.
